


Arcadia In Asphalt

by VillaKulla



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: 1970s, Biker AU, Dive Bars, M/M, Motel Rooms, Non-Linear Narrative, Recreational Drug Use, Tattoo Parlours
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 19:37:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13488375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VillaKulla/pseuds/VillaKulla
Summary: /ɑrˈkeɪdiə/noun: an unspoiled, idyllic paradise.Snapshots of dive bars, greasy spoons, tattoo parlours, neon-drenched motel rooms, and two drifters named Goodnight Robicheaux and Billy Rocks as they make their way across 1970s Americana on the back of a couple old motorcycles.





	Arcadia In Asphalt

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by whereverigobillygoes' wonderful Biker AU moodboard: https://whereverigobillygoes.tumblr.com/post/167666290959/80s-biker-au-goody-is-a-vietnam-war-veteran  
> Shoutout to Fontainebleau for the helpful suggestions!

 

 

 

 

It had started, as so many things in Goodnight Robicheaux’s life did, on the road.

 

He’d been on the road when he first told his parents he wouldn’t be coming home, calling them from a dented rusty payphone in the corner of a bar outside Baton Rouge, slamming down the receiver and staring at it with a heart pounding in adrenaline and uncertainty and relief.

 

He’d gotten his first real job on the road, washing dishes at a diner just on the outskirts of Louisiana, the kind that mostly saw truckers coming in with one sunburned arm and the dust still on their clothes. It paid a dollar an hour, the cooks used words Goodnight had never imagined existed, and it couldn’t have been rougher or further from the life Goodnight was brought up to. It was one of the happiest times of his life.

 

He’d kissed another man for the first time on the road, a sharp bolt shooting down to his gut at the shape of his firm lips, the rough jaw against his, the large hands moving far too soon for the buckle on his jeans. The following moments had been quick, heated, confirming what he already knew he’d always wanted, but with his head leaned back against the wall, a different want kept running through his head, silently pleading over and over _‘just kiss me again’._

He’d signed up for the war while on the road, standing in line at a recruitment table in an old community centre in California, a poster saying he wanted _him_. The faces of men who’d been drafted blurred around him while Goodnight calmly signed up, pen scratching with a finality that didn’t seem real until he was stepping off a helicopter in Vĩnh Long, slapped with a wall of heat and green while the propellers behind him kicked up the dust all around.

 

And then it had been two years on a road that Goodnight still wasn’t sure hadn’t been in hell the entire time.

 

When he was sent back home he went straight to travel roads he knew, this time on the back of a second-hand Ducati. He’d bought it from an old war vet who’d taken a liking to Goodnight, and who’d showed him how to fix it up. Goodnight found a leather fleur-de-lis tag that he tied onto the handlebars. He would ride it across the states, pushing just a little too hard on the accelerator, the country whipping by in a flash, and for just a few, terrifying, thrilling, blissful moments, Goodnight’s mind would go blank.

 

It was on the road where he met Billy.

 

He’d just gone up to order another drink at the bar when they looked at each other, and Goodnight felt like he’d taken a punch straight to the gut. The music from the jukebox faded into the background, the taste of whisky on his tongue seemed to dry, and Goodnight was suddenly very aware of his hands while he stared into those black eyes that still weren’t looking away from him.

 

And then someone in that little dive bar in Texas noticed them staring and decided to cast aspersions on both their preferences, along with some choice commentary on Billy’s origins. Billy still didn’t look away from Goodnight; just swallowed the rest of his drink, and lowered it from his lips, thumb rubbing along the glass.

 

And then he whirled around in a flash, slamming the glass against the man’s head where it burst into fragments, sending the man’s frame crumpling to the dirty floor.

 

The melee that ensued was a fiasco. The man’s friends kept rushing Billy and he sent them all flying in a flurry of fists and elbows. But he didn’t see the one rushing up behind him, and that was where Goodnight stepped in, calmly picking up an overturned bar stool, lifting it over his head and bringing it down on the man’s back with a crash, wooden pieces clattering around his stunned form.

 

Billy had turned and looked at Goodnight, hair in his face, chest rising and falling heavily, and Goodnight tried to convince himself the world hadn’t just shifted beneath his feet, while the bartender’s shouting voice echoed distantly in his head.

 

“We’ll be going now,” Goodnight said, still staring at Billy, because at some point in the last two minutes, ‘they’ had become ‘we’, and they both knew it.

 

Twenty minutes later they were falling to the mattress of a room in a cheap motel just outside city limits, mouths working desperately, furiously together, hands grappling at each other’s clothes. Before long the room was full of the sounds of their ragged breathing and the rattle of the headboard. Their hands tangled in each other’s hair like they never meant to let go, and perhaps they never did.

 

 

*

 

 

Billy came back to the table, eyes lighting up when he saw their food had been delivered. Goodnight had waited for him before starting.

 

“Did you know in some countries it’s considered strange to have French fries for breakfast?” Goodnight said as Billy slid back into the booth.

 

“They’re just potatoes,” Billy said, separating said fries from his waffles.

 

“I know,” said Goodnight. “But I wonder why square-cut potatoes are acceptable for breakfast, but the long and thin ones are reserved for lunch and dinner.”

 

Billy gave a noncommittal tilt of his head while reaching for the maple syrup, pouring it generously over his entire plate, French fries included.

 

“I suppose they’re the same people who would have something to say about this,” Goodnight said about the display in front of him, one he’d seen many times before. “Not that I have any opinion on your French fry preferences, chéri, but others might.”

 

“Well what do other people put on their fries?”

 

“Well,” Goodnight said thoughtfully, starting in on his pancakes and bacon, “Besides the customary ketchup, I believe some places in Europe like mayonnaise.”

 

Billy nodded like he found that to be an acceptable alternative.

 

“And I’ve also heard tartar sauce can be used, although that’s probably only with fish and chips.”

 

Billy slid a new fry around the puddle of syrup before popping it into his mouth.

 

“But nowhere,” Goodnight said, watching him chew, “Nowhere, chéri, do they put maple syrup on their French fries.”

 

Billy just shrugged.

 

“You’d think the Canadians would approve,” he said, spearing another forkful of maple-dripping fries.

 

“Not so,” Goodnight replied, slicing up some more pancakes. “They put vinegar on them.”

 

Billy paused with his fork halfway to his mouth.

 

“Vinegar?”

 

“I swear.”

 

Billy’s nose wrinkled. Goodnight’s lips turned up and he cleared his throat and looked down at his plate.

 

“Did you know,” he continued conversationally, “That French fries aren’t really from France at all? They’re from Belgium.”

 

He broke off when the waitress came by with the pot of coffee, pouring them each another cup. Billy took a couple packets of sugar from the bowl on the table before passing it to Goodnight.

 

“And do you know what they call French fries in France?” Goodnight continued, taking the creamers from it.

 

Billy stirred the sugar into his coffee.

 

“Fries?” he asked drolly.

 

“A disgrace.”

 

Billy’s eyes snapped over to his, crinkling in amusement, and Goodnight’s lip tugged up. They finished the rest of their breakfast in a comfortable silence.

 

 

*

 

Billy’s bike was a beauty. Red and black, the logo stamped brightly on the gas tank, it always managed to look clean and shining even after a long ride. It was a lightweight Harley-Davidson that was meant more for racing, but Billy had souped up the engine just a few parts over the legal limit to give it more endurance. Its body was about the same size as Goodnight’s bike, but Billy’s had larger wheels that looked like they could take on any terrain, no matter how rough. Billy never admitted to attempting tricks on it, but Goodnight would have been astounded if Billy hadn’t tried.

 

Goodnight’s bike was a classic Triumph Bonneville. Its silver had dulled somewhat but the engine was in perfect condition. He’d long since gotten rid of his first bike, since it was starting to feel like it would shake to pieces every time he started it up. He’d transferred over the leather fleur-de-lis tassel from its handlebars though, and it still fluttered up against Goodnight’s wrist when he went fast.

 

 

*

 

 

They stepped into the motel room and the second the door swung shut, Goodnight was being pushed up against it, their mouths meeting in a hot, hungry kiss.

 

Goodnight moaned and reached for the man’s face, thumbs pressed against the high cheekbones, mouth opening for the lips that were searingly hot against his.

 

They staggered over to the bed, tugging at each other’s clothes, hands seeking out the warm skin beneath. Goodnight sat down on the edge of the bed while the man stood over him, pulling off his own shirt. His stomach was firm and toned and it instantly had Goodnight letting out a breath as he surged forward to see if it felt and tasted as good as it looked. The hand that slid through his hair was surprisingly tender.

 

Goodnight pulled back from where he’d been sucking a mark against the man’s stomach, feeling dizzy as he looked up at him.

 

“What’s your name?” he asked panting, fingers tracing circles into the skin on the man’s lower stomach.

 

The man’s eyes sparked, a wash of neon from the flashing sign outside lighting up his bare skin.

 

“Billy,” he said.

 

“Billy,” Goodnight repeated, hands sliding over to the button of his jeans. He slowly dragged down the zipper over the metal teeth.

 

“Billy,” he breathed, as he slid the jeans down firm thighs, Billy’s thumb tracing the shell of his ear.

 

“Billy,” he said again as he rested his forehead for a moment on the man’s hipbone, so much heat emanating from the skin below.

 

And then he bowed his head, Billy took in a sharp breath, and the hand on the back of his head tightened.

 

 

 

*

 

Goodnight still had that gasp imprinted on his tongue.

 

 

*

 

_Smack._

 

The clatter of billiards broke through the clamour in the bar. Goodnight accepted two cool draft beers from the bartender and turned around to look for his partner.

 

There he was, hanging back from the table, pool cue in hand while he watched the other player make the first break, the balls scattering all over the table.

 

Goodnight walked over to him, just a hint of swagger in his legs as he passed the group Billy was challenging.

 

“Gentlemen,” he said easily, handing Billy his glass. Billy took a sip, line of his throat bobbing. Goodnight felt himself twitch in his jeans and he put his spare hand in his pocket, walking away to watch from the corner.

 

Billy watched the other patron circle the table like a hawk, looking for the best angles to sink his striped balls from. Billy might not have been moving but Goodnight knew he was tracking every shift of the table, every new path being opened up. The other guy was pretty good, but he only needed to miss once for Billy to take the table. And once Billy took the table, he took the entire game.

 

The jukebox beside Goodnight was thumping out rock and funk, the wah-wah of the guitar filling the room with a twangy, fluctuation rhythm. The vibrations in the floorboards travelled up through Goodnight’s feet. He took a sip of his beer, watching Billy watch the game. He felt loose, mellow, though still on his guard in case anyone started trouble when Billy won their cash off them. Which Billy would.

 

Billy thumbed the tip of his pool cue, Goodnight’s eyes going directly to its circling motions. He took another sip of his drink, eyes traveling down to the tight jeans Billy wore, and the firm rise of his ass. There were teeth marks there beneath the denim. Goodnight knew, because he’d put them there last night.

 

There was a groan from the table, Billy’s competitor missing a shot. Billy took another swallow of his drink, and set it down on an out-of-the-way table. He reached for the chalk, catching sight of Goodnight leaning back against the wall. His eyes fell to the V of Goodnight’s jeans, and Billy began to rub the chalk over the tip of his pool cue, slowly, deliberately.

 

Goodnight glared and shifted his weight from one leg to another. Billy just smirked and turned away to line up his shot, bending down just a little more than necessary.

 

_Smack._

 

The balls thwacked together, Billy sinking his with an unmistakeable rattling thud. He straightened up, to walk around the other side of the table, this time facing Goodnight. The pool cue dangled provocatively by his hip.

 

Goodnight leaned back against the wall, hooking a thumb in the waistband of his jeans, letting his legs part just a shade. Billy’s eyes darkened, smile tugging at his lips, and he bent over to take his next shot.

 

_Smack._

 

 

*

 

 

Goodnight stared around the tattoo parlour, some of the designs up on the walls both fascinating and grotesque. A tattoo gun was buzzing steadily in one of the booths, and Goodnight tilted his head to see if one jagged green print made more sense on its side.

 

“I just paid.”

 

Goodnight turned to look at Billy, so calm and placid in their harsh surroundings. Goodnight had been on the road a long time and was well used to keeping up a good front in rougher places. But he couldn’t help feeling a childish tingle of nerves at their surroundings. Probably because he knew it was the exact kind of place his parents never would have let him set foot in.

 

He wouldn’t have thought it was the kind of place Billy would want to set foot in, or any other part of his body for that matter. He wasn’t sure what had prompted Billy to make such a decision. He wouldn’t have thought him the type at all. But when they rolled into this new town and after they’d gotten their room sorted, Billy had declared he wanted to double back to the tattoo parlour they’d passed with its blinking red sign outside.

 

Privately Goodnight had felt a brief pull of regret at the thought of any of Billy’s lovely smooth skin getting marked up. But out loud he’d told Billy he would be going with him.

 

“Sure I can’t come in the booth and offer you moral support?” Goodnight asked him now.

 

Billy shook his head, the shadow of a smile at his lips.

 

“I don’t think there’s room. Besides, I’ll show you tonight.”

 

“You certainly know how to make a sales pitch.”

 

Billy gently swatted at him, and turned heel to follow the large man in a leather vest who’d stepped out of a booth to call his name. Goodnight just hoped the tattoos he did looked neater than his beard.

 

The night Goodnight was lying on the mattress of their cheap hotel room, sitting back against the pillows, listening to the traffic down on the street and the sounds of Billy moving around the bathroom.

 

“I know you’re not doing anything in there besides building suspense,” Goodnight called out to him, fingers picking at the duvet cover.

 

Billy stepped out. He was wearing just his thin white boxer shorts and Goodnight’s eyes raked over him for any new marks, not finding any.

 

“Turn around,” Goodnight instructed him. Billy turned slowly around, and while the sight was certainly appreciated, Goodnight still didn’t see any tattoos.

 

“I don’t suppose this is an invitation for me to look closer?” Goodnight asked.

 

Billy smiled and walked over to the bed, getting up onto the mattress, straddling Goodnight’s hips.

 

“Still don’t see it?” he asked lightly, hands running up Goodnight’s chest, leaving tingling trails over Goodnight’s skin.

 

Goodnight swallowed and reached out turned on the lamp on the bedside table. It added a little extra glow to the room but not much. He trailed a finger down Billy’s stomach, hooking it into the waistband of his briefs, and pulling them away from the skin.

 

“Is it in there?” he joked. Billy shook his head, some hair hair falling across his eyes which were locked on Goodnight’s own.

 

Goodnight tilted Billy’s chin to the side, leaning forward to kiss the soft skin behind Billy’s ear. Billy’s eyes fluttered closed.

 

“It’s not there either,” Goodnight murmured. Billy shook his head again, hair tickling Goodnight’s nose.

 

“Well then I must confess I’m at a loss, darlin’,” Goodnight said, trailing slow, deliberate kisses down Billy’s neck towards his shoulder, hands going to Billy’s hips which rolled over his.

 

Billy nuzzled the side of Goodnight’s head with his own before pulling back slightly. Goodnight’s lips brushed over his shoulder as he leaned back too. Billy extended his left arm to the side and turned it towards Goodnight. There on the inside of his upper arm, hidden away between his shoulder and ribs was a black fleur-de-lis.

 

Goodnight stared. The warm, comfortable room seemed to be narrowed down entirely to the ink on Billy’s skin, inside Billy’s skin. The ink that Billy felt was worth enough to carry with him.

 

Billy was watching him, waiting for Goodnight’s reaction. When Goodnight met his eyes they were more vulnerable than he was used to seeing them, the darkness of them warmed brown in the lamplight.

 

The black outline of the fleur-de-lis was swimming in the corner of Goodnight’s vision. He reached out to stroke it gingerly with careful fingers, his pulse thudding through his veins. He then trailed his fingers down the underside of Billy’s arm, eliciting a shudder from Billy.

 

Goodnight lifted his hands to cradle Billy’s face. He traced Billy’s lips with his fingers, outlined the curve of his eyelids, keeping his fingers light, as though he was trying to absorb Billy, trying to hold Billy under his skin too.

 

He leaned forward to press a kiss to Billy’s lips that didn’t feel entirely steady. Billy lifted his hands to Goodnight’s face too, kissing him back. Goodnight slid his hands around to Billy’s back, soaking in the feeling of all that warm skin, Billy’s skin, _Goodnight’s_ skin.

 

He lay back on the mattress, pulling Billy down with him, and soon it didn’t matter whose skin was whose at all.

 

 

*

 

 

“One hit, you’ll be flying.”

 

They were the words of a man who looked like he spent more time crashing than flying, cheeks gaunt, arms scabbed.

 

“You chase the dragon?”

 

Goodnight shook his head while he washed his hands in a cracked sink. The water was freezing. In the bathroom the music from the bar was muffled, guitar twanging, gravelly blues being sung without affectation into a mic that was just slightly pitchy.

 

“Why not? Pure pleasure, man. Nothing but peace.”

 

_Peace is patriotic. Americans want peace. Make love not war._

Goodnight’s eyes were dragged up to the mirror, looking at the man in the open stall behind him. He was clothed, sitting on the toilet, holding up a lighter underneath a bubbling spoon. His eyes were utterly fixed on its contents. He flicked off the lighter and looked down.

 

“Ah fuck…I forgot to…hey man. Yeah. Come help me.”

 

Goodnight froze, looked back down into the sink but the man had already seen him looking.

 

“Help me out, man, pick up that belt.”

 

Goodnight turned slowly. He moved towards the belt as though in a trance. Just following orders.

 

“Tie it tight.”

 

The lighting in the bathroom was harsh, garish, the bulbs in the ceiling whining. But the tip of the needle shone unassumingly in the glare, deep silver glowing soft. Goodnight stared.

 

“Thanks, man. Give you a chance after.”

 

_Give peace a chance._

Goodnight was suddenly wrenched back. He whirled around and saw Billy, face white, eyes black, mouth a thin line. He was vibrating in rage.

 

“Get the hell out.”

 

Goodnight felt himself swell up, angry and defensive, feeling caught out but not sure why.

 

“You can’t –”

 

“ _Out._ ”

 

Billy grabbed him by the arm and hauled him out of the bathroom, dragging through the loud bar, Goodnight only throwing his arms off once they were on the street outside.

 

“What the _hell_ , Billy?” Goodnight yelled, full of anger at Billy thinking he could just come in there and act like he knew what Goodnight was thinking, judging him for nothing.

 

Billy stalked back to their motel down the street, Goodnight following him, hurling abuse against Billy’s ramrod straight back:

 

“Like you’re so perfect? You smoke more reefers than I do, for chrissakes. And _you’re_ the one who got us blow that time in Reno. And even if I did want to try that shit in there, that doesn’t mean you get to judge me for it. Hell, maybe I should take it up anyways. You already think I’m interested, already think that much of me, might as well make it official. And –”

 

He was being obnoxious in his self-righteousness, overly defensive he knew, but he couldn’t stop. He kept it up all the way back to their motel, Billy walking ahead of him, shoulders stiff. And when they got inside, Billy was slamming Goodnight back up against the door.

 

“Don’t you _ever_ put that shit in you,” Billy yelled at him, eyes burning, hands shaking in anger. Goodnight was too shocked to respond.

 

“That what you want to be? Huh? Some junkie in a bathroom looking for his veins? Asking strangers to help ‘cause everyone he ever knew left him?”

 

Goodnight had never seen Billy so enraged.

 

“I was just –”

 

Billy slammed his fist on the door beside Goodnight’s head.

 

“Dammit, Goody, if you ever touch a needle I will _leave_ you! You understand me? I will leave you.”

 

His hair was wild, his chest was heaving, and his eyes were burning in anger. Goodnight felt his throat constrict and he shoved Billy off him, going into the bathroom and slamming the door behind him before Billy could see his face crumple.

 

He sat curled up in the shower, eyes pressed against his knees. It was freezing but the water was on full blast while hot, silent tears burned out of his eyes and he took in shallow gasps.

 

When he came out again he was freezing, sober and ashamed. Billy was lying on the duvet in the dark room, facing the wall, still awake. Goodnight hesitated and climbed in behind him, reaching out to touch Billy’s shoulder.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice low, plaintive. “I didn’t mean…any of that.”

 

Billy stirred and rolled over, and Goodnight didn’t know if his face would be fixed in a snarl, a glare, or worst of all, ice. What he wasn’t expecting was Billy’s eyes to be red-rimmed as though he’d been crying.

 

“Sweetheart,” Goodnight said shocked, voice catching. He pulled Billy towards him, wrapping his arms around him.

 

“Please don’t do anything with needles,” Billy whispered against his chest.

 

“I won’t, I swear –”

 

“I know I…I know I was the one who suggested we try some of that other stuff,” Billy said, voice small, hoarse, anguished. “But… _please_ don’t do anything with needles.”

 

And Goodnight realized Billy had never been angry. He was petrified.

 

“I wouldn’t have,” Goodnight said, almost sure it was true.

 

“You just hear more and more things every day about sharing needles, and I can’t lose you, and –”

 

Goodnight rubbed his back, and Billy tilted his head to look at him.

 

“And if you ever got something, I would get it too. Understand?”

 

Shame and self-loathing rose like bile in Goodnight’s throat. It made him sick to his stomach that the thought had never even entered his head.

 

“I promise,” he said, holding Billy tight, and Billy’s hands ran over Goodnight’s skin. Billy’s skin. Their skin.

 

 

*

 

 

They must have been in half the diners and motels on Route 66. They all started to bleed into one another after a while. Tired waitresses of few words, short order cooks of shorter tempers, leather booths, coffee hot enough to take the top of your mouth off.

 

The waitress set their specials down. Billy sleepily slid the bowl of creamers over to Goodnight while pouring a cascade of sugar into his coffee. They were both hungover and content. They’d brought a bottle back to their room and had spent the night chasing its taste out of each other’s mouths and then making clumsy, enthusiastic love on the stiff mattress. They would spend the morning in this anonymous little diner, and they would spend the day riding together to go do it all over again.

 

As far as lives went, Goodnight couldn’t complain about how his had turned out at all.

 

Billy yawned and speared his French fries with his fork.

 

“Do you know what they call French fries in France?” Goodnight asked.

 

“A disgrace,” Billy said.

 

He smiled at Goodnight. Goodnight smiled back. Their feet tangled below the table.

 

 

*

 

Goodnight woke up gasping, struggling to remember where he was, screams echoing in his ears, horrible screams, screams that had followed him as he ran back into the trees, leaves slicing his face open, tripping over a root, curling up at the base of the tree, moaning in fear while that green hell blazed and roared around him.

 

“ _Goody._ ”

 

Billy caught his wrists, slid over him, pinned him to the mattress, saying his name until Goodnight woke up fully, tracks of tears staining his cheeks.

 

“I just ran,” he gasped out.

 

“Come on,” Billy murmured, hauling Goodnight up to a sitting position, folding his arms around Goodnight. Goodnight couldn’t reach out, his arms clutched too tightly to himself, but he leaned forward, head on Billy’s chest.

 

“I just ran,” he sobbed out again.

 

It wasn’t the first time Billy had seen him wake up like this, to grief and shame and fear all burning a hole through Goodnight’s chest like they could burn up the memories too.

 

“Shhh,” Billy said, hands rubbing his back, nose brushing into the hairs at the nape of Goodnight’s neck. Goodnight felt Billy breathe him in, as though even like this, Goodnight was something to be cherished. Goodnight felt like his chest might crack open.

 

“I didn’t do any of it,” he said through sobs. “The things they said happened over there. But I saw it and…and I ran.”

 

Billy held him while Goodnight’s shame was wrenched from his body, rocking him slowly until the weeping trickled off and Goodnight ran out of tears. Until the next time.

 

 

*

 

 

Billy came out of the bathroom, towelling off his hair, jeans slung low over his hips. Water from the shower was still beading his chest and Goodnight stared openly. Billy was by far the most beautiful person he’d ever slept with, and hell if Goodnight wasn’t going to commit him to memory before he walked out the door.

 

Billy walked across the room and sat on the edge of the bed, reaching for his socks. Goodnight stretched and adjusted the dial on his portable radio. A baseball game was crackling away.

 

Goodnight turned his head where he was sitting up on the pillows, eyeing the bunching of Billy’s muscles while he pulled his socks on. As though sensing Goodnight watching, Billy turned around, and Goodnight flicked his eyes up to Billy’s face.

 

“Sleep alright?” he asked voice purposefully light. They were the first words they’d really spoken that morning, aside from some mumbled exchange when Billy had gotten up to head into the shower. Goodnight had lain there half asleep, listening to the sounds of water drumming against the tiles before he woke up fully, pulling on his clothes from last night.

 

Billy nodded.

 

“You?”

 

“Fine.”

 

And so he had. He’d lain awake at first, soothed by the presence of another body in his bed. Billy had fallen asleep quickly after he came, which Goodnight was almost relived by. It wasn’t exactly afterglow, but neither was it the other party heading out while Goodnight was still catching his breath. He’d moved in close to Billy, not quite touching him, but lulled to sleep by the warm skin beside him.

 

That skin disappeared now while Billy stood up and pulled on his shirt. Goodnight swallowed and looked away, pretending to adjust the volume on his radio.

 

Billy turned back to him, holding onto a bag.

 

“Where were you headed anyways?” he asked Goodnight.

 

“Was aiming for New Mexico,” Goodnight said with a shrug, his plans mostly amorphous. “But I’m in no rush. I’ll probably spend another day in here.”

 

He gestured to the small room and the baseball game, still coming in fuzzily over the airwaves.

 

“You will?”

 

Goodnight looked at Billy’s confused face and threw caution to the wind.

 

“I’m not exactly cherishing the idea of being astride my bike after last night.” He cracked an ironic smile at Billy. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”

 

“Ah.”

 

The wrinkle between Billy’s eyebrows smoothed out in understanding, his mouth hovering on the edge of what could have been amusement, Goodnight wasn’t sure. His gaze travelled down Goodnight’s body towards the areas of contention. Goodnight felt a twinge, not in an unpleasant way.

 

There was a tinny cheer on the radio as someone rounded the bases, the commentators shouting over each other.

 

“Yankees vs. Orioles,” Goodnight said. “You follow baseball?”

 

Billy shook his head. Goodnight turned the volume up a hair.

 

“It’s the top of the ninth. If the Yankees can manage another home run here then they’ll probably win. If they don’t, then it’s anyone’s game.”

 

Billy listened intently to the commentators, head cocked ever so slightly.

 

“Wanna stay and find out what happens?”

 

Goodnight had asked casually, but when Billy stared at him his mouth went dry. He held Billy’s gaze, heart hammering all the while.

 

Finally Billy nodded. He dropped his bag on the carpet and Goodnight’s heart soared. Billy got back onto the bed and sat next to Goodnight. Goodnight was suddenly hyperaware of everything they’d gotten up to on it the night before. There was a respectable space between them now, but one alive with unspoken tension.

 

Goodnight was barely listening to the game. He shifted his position, as though making himself comfortable again. It brought him in an inch closer to Billy. Billy paused and then leaned back further along the headboard, sliding a bit over the wood towards Goodnight.

 

The cloth of their T-shirts was touching, their sleeves brushing together the barest amount. Goodnight slid his eyes over to Billy. Billy was looking at Goodnight too, eyes sparkling the way they had in the bar last night, like he knew so many things Goodnight didn’t, but was willing to invite him to find out what they were.

 

Goodnight shuffled deliberately, leaning against Billy’s shoulder. Billy adjusted it and Goodnight settled against him properly, biting back a grin. He didn’t have to look beside him to know that Billy was doing the same.

 

 

*

 

“Open up.”

 

Billy’s voice was low, seductive. They were kneeling on the bed, facing each other, just a little tipsy. Neither were wearing any clothes.

 

Goodnight parted his lips and there were Billy’s fingers dancing along his bottom lip, slow, methodical. Goodnight extended his tongue just the slightest amount, touching the tips of Billy’s fingers with it. They tasted like sugar.

 

Billy thumbed at Goodnight’s lower lip, pulling it, opening Goodnight’s mouth wider. He reached back, taking a pill. He was hard already.

 

Goodnight was tingling with anticipation while Billy lifted the little button of a pill. He ran it over Goodnight’s parted lips and Goodnight’s breath came quicker. Then Billy was pulling back, placing the pill on his own tongue.

 

Before Goodnight could complain, Billy leaned forward again, Goodnight opened his mouth for him, and Billy was slowly sliding their tongues together, rolling the tablet into Goodnight’s mouth, and then pressing down hard with his tongue until it crumbled over Goodnight’s.

 

Goodnight closed his mouth and felt it dissolve. Billy took one of the pills himself, smiling at Goodnight, waiting for it to melt, hair loose over his shoulders. And then he was moving forward and opening Goodnight’s mouth with his again to kiss him, their tongues hot, and just a little tingly.

 

Goodnight went to rest his hands on Billy’s shoulders but Billy caught his wrists.

 

“Not yet,” he murmured. He put Goodnight’s hands back on Goodnight’s own thighs, tantalizingly close to his groin. Goodnight shifted, trying to get some more pressure. The sheets on the bed scratched his legs. Every fibre seemed to be stretching up to reach his skin.

 

Billy leaned forward to capture Goodnight’s mouth again in a wet, heated kiss. They kissed until it felt like their every nerve was alight, a flush breaking out over both their chests.

 

Goodnight was floating, his mind light and weightless, but his body heavy, alive and aware of everything. He could feel every whisper of the ceiling fan in the hot room, every brush of Billy’s knees against his, tickling the fine hairs there. He laughed into the kiss, a wave of chemical euphoria breaking over his head, spilling crystalline droplets over them both.

 

Billy smiled, his eyes blown wide and black, skin gold, luminescent in the dim room. Goodnight had to touch. He reached out, hands around Billy’s hips, and thought he could feel every cell in Billy’s body shudder and swirl at the touch. Goodnight slid his hand up Billy’s chest, the sparks following his hand in a trail. He opened his fingers and they scattered in five directions like a firework over Billy’s skin.

 

“We’re dancing,” he said dreamily, dopamine flooding his brain.

 

Billy hummed, a symphony of sound ringing in the single note. Goodnight could see the music emanating off Billy’s skin. He leaned forward to press his lips to Billy’s shoulder and see if he could taste the notes.

 

Billy’s hands slid up his back and _oh_ , Goodnight had never felt anything as good as that touch. He felt it everywhere, spreading out from Billy’s iron-hot hands, diffusing through his skin in a shower of stars. The stars turned liquid and swam through him in warm rivulets, pooling low in his belly.

 

He nudged Billy onto his back, sliding over him, the ache between his legs expanding in a warm orb, pulsing with every press against Billy’s skin. They rocked together like that, Billy’s hair fanned out on the pillow, hands gripping Goodnight’s back, each finger a pulsing pressure point, vibrating in time with their thrusts.

 

Billy rolled Goodnight onto his back, the shift happening in stop-motion flashes until Goodnight was looking up at the frame of Billy braced over him. Billy’s hands were tracing his face, his breathing heavy, fingers marvelling through Goodnight’s hair, his eyes, his lips. Goodnight arched into the touch. Warm air from the cracked window floated in around them, blanketing them both, wrapping them tight in a floating phosphorescent sheet.

 

Billy slid into him and Goodnight cried out and arched his back like a harp Billy had pulled a cluster of notes from, fingers drumming over taut, quivering strings. Billy started to move, their skin dragging together warmly.

 

Goodnight gazed up at him, at Billy’s intent, breathless face, Goodnight’s hands absorbing all his skin, endless beneath his trembling fingers and shifting over him in steady thrusts. He could feel Billy’s heartbeat where they were joined, every molecule of Billy’s body rushing to meet every molecule of Goodnight’s, linking up, fusing together to form cells of a single nucleus.

 

A truck turned around in the parking lot outside, and the high beams poured into the room, lighting it up like a brilliant cavern, chinks of light sliding and glittering and pouring over the walls in a waterfall of sparks.

 

For one infinite moment Billy was pure crystal above him, lit up from the inside out, throwing a dizzying prism of colours out over Goodnight. Goodnight could see the light surging through him, a beam of pure white energy, getting brighter and brighter, burning through the diamond of Billy’s skin. Billy reached out with an auroral hand to stroke Goodnight’s face.

 

And then the prism shattered, the light exploded into a million blinding technicolour beams, and everything went white.

 

 

*

 

 

Goodnight stepped into the shower, swaying on his feet. He swivelled the taps around, turning on the shower, letting out a breath as the water came on. Hot.

 

He stood there beneath the spray, letting the hot water slide over him, drum against his weary muscles, sluice through the tracks of dust until his skin was pink from the heat. He closed his eyes, leaning his head against the tile wall.

 

His muscles burned, his back ached, his limbs were stiff, but he embraced it, craved it. Riding all day could be exhausting. But the more he pushed himself during the day, the better he slept at night. Those nights when he fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow were pure, blank, bliss.

 

The shower curtain clinked, a breath of cooler air wafting into the steam-filled room. Goodnight felt Billy step in behind him, reaching gently around him for the shampoo.

 

Goodnight hummed as Billy’s fingers slid through his hair. The cheap shampoo smelled like lemon, and Billy worked it into Goodnight’s hair. He slowly massaged Goodnight’s scalp, fingers strong and gentle.

 

When Goodnight’s hair was rinsed clean, Billy massaged the base of his skull until Goodnight was swaying. Billy’s hands slid down to Goodnight’s neck next, working out the tension, thumbs digging circles into his shoulders. Goodnight focused on the touch, feeling he was joining the rest of the water as it slipped over their skin, puddling to the floor in warm pools as Billy worked his hands down Goodnight’s back.

 

Eventually Billy slipped his arms around Goodnight’s waist, resting his chin on Goodnight’s shoulder, holding him close. Goodnight lifted his hand to place it over Billy’s. He leaned back into Billy’s chest and closed his eyes.

 

They stood that way for a long time, skin to skin, soul to soul, the water beating down around them. When the shower started to become lukewarm, Billy moved to turn the taps off, Goodnight mumbling with the motion, half-asleep in Billy’s arms. Billy kissed the back of his neck, taking a towel out from the bathroom that he wrapped around Goodnight. He opened the shower curtain, helping them step out.

 

They walked back out into the dark room, Goodnight leaning into Billy. Billy turned back the covers for them both. When Goodnight was settled onto the bed, Billy climbed in next to him, wrapping himself around him. Goodnight moved in closer to the warmth of Billy’s chest, closing his eyes.

 

Billy was humming something and Goodnight curled in close, letting himself be lulled by Billy’s breathing. Billy’s fingers trailed down Goodnight’s back, their legs tangled together, and the slow synching of their hearts in a steady rhythm was better than any kind of blankness Goodnight thought he craved, as it carried Goodnight off to sleep.

 

 

*

 

 

 

Goodnight leaned back against his bike, the leather of the seat scorching hot against his lower back. He handed Billy a can of beer from the convenience store he’d gone to a few miles back the way they’d came.

 

Billy took the cool can, crouched where he was beside his bike. He held it against his forehead for a moment, closing his eyes.

 

Goodnight popped his open and took a long swallow. It could have been water in this heat. He gasped in satisfaction when he finally removed it from his lips.

 

“It just overheated,” he said to Billy who was staring into the engine.

 

“No, it’s the oil pump.”

 

“I know you want it to be the oil pump so you can play around in there to your heart’s content,” said Goodnight. “But it’s overheated. Just let it idle.”

 

“It overheated because of the oil pump,” Billy said patiently. But he straightened up stretching, wincing from being squatted down in the dust to tinker in his engine while Goodnight drove off to get them refreshments. He looked down at the beer in his hand as though seeing it for the first time.

 

“Thanks.”

 

“Good thing we’re near a gas station,” Goodnight said, meaning it. If they had to they could just wheel their heavy bikes back to the gas station which would be a hot walk, but not as long as it could have been.

 

It felt like the middle of nowhere though. There was no one around for miles on the desert road that was swimming in the sun, stretching out into the valley where red sandstone buttes jutted up out of the horizon.

 

Goodnight squinted up at the sky, shielding his eyes from the glare. Some kind of bird soared through the endless blue sky, as though tethered by an unseen hand.

 

There was a sense of infinite peace settling over him where he stood between earth and sky. He could feel it expanding in his chest, something deeper than contentment.

 

He lowered his head and looked at Billy who’d been watching him.

 

“What?” Billy asked him.

 

Goodnight shook his head, small smile on his face.

 

“Nothing.”

 

Billy look unconvinced, but he had a smile tucked into the edges of his mouth too. They stared at each other a moment longer, a light breeze whipping through the valley, rustling the pale scrub that pushed up out of the sand. The silence stretched out around them, vast, rich and infinite.

 

A sudden sputter from the engine of Billy’s motorcycle interrupted the stillness. They both glanced over at it, Billy in satisfaction.

 

“Told you. It’s the oil pump.”

 

Billy walked over, tying his outer shirt around his waist. He wiped his forehead, leaving a streak of engine oil there.

 

He watched Billy fix the engine, leaning against his bike, enjoying the breeze that had picked up again, ruffling through his hair, sending sand scattering around the heels of Billy’s boots.

 

By the time Billy straightened up again the sun was starting to sink slowly, the air getting cooler but the tarmac still hot. Goodnight passed him a bottle of water and Billy took a long drink, emptying the rest onto his head. He put their shared toolkit back into his seat, and Goodnight watched him, that firm ball of fulfilment still pulsing away in his chest.

 

He felt so full he’d barely noticed that Billy had already gotten back on his bike, testing his engine which gave him a steady purr, ready to go.

 

“You got somewhere else to be?” he asked Goodnight, giving him a half smile while he waited for him.

 

Goodnight smiled as he looked back down the road, the cliffs beyond dripping gold and ruby red in the sinking sunlight, then back at Billy.

 

“No. Nowhere else at all.”

 

And he got back on his bike, kicking it into gear, and they both took off, their wheels spurring up dust into the slowly setting sun.

 

 

 

 

 

 

_End._


End file.
